The Coming Storm
by Keeter
Summary: An interlude and Aragorn's thoughts


Disclaimer: I do not own any of these characters, they belong to a genius named Tolkien.ever heard of him?  
  
Author's Note: This is an interlude from Aragorn's point of view. Feedback is most welcome.  
  
Doom.the Doom of Men.the Doom of All Life.and it was heading towards us at great speed. Legolas had spoke of fear, fear in the eyes of the Rohirrim; spoke of it as if it would be a hindrance in the impending clash. And I, I let my thoughts outweigh my instincts at that moment and spoke to him in anger. Even as the words had left my lips, I had regretted them. I'd meant what I'd said, that I would die as one of them should it come to that, but to imply that he was not so willing was not what I had intended.  
  
As I made my hasty departure, I glanced at the faces before me and did indeed see a great fear, but also a resolve. They would stand and fight and die and they would do it of their own free will as well as fear. Fear is a healthy thing for without it, one would not care about life enough to defend it and so, it is fear that pushes us to protect our people, our brethren, and ourselves, not bravery or valor.  
  
I find myself weary and the battle has yet to begin. Suddenly, the walls seemed to close in about me and my chest tightened. I sought escape and solitude and free air but there was not such a place in this great fortress for the deeping walls were already being lined with soldiers.  
  
I continued my journey in hopes I might find an abandoned window to cast my gaze from and as I did, I caught my reflection in a mirror hung in one of the passageways. I looked weary too, weary of life. At nearly a century old, I bare the lines of time and weather and war, but there is something else, something that I do not see so clearly. I am old in spirit as well and I feel as if I've lived a hundred lifetimes in this moment. I looked at the face before me again. There is a royal bearing there that I cannot deny, much as I would like to. I have no ambitions for greatness. I only wish this war to be over and this evil to be destroyed. If I am to be King then why do I now seek to run and not look back? Why do I seek to abandon these people? Is it fear? A two-sided blade to be sure, fear is what makes us fight, yet fear is what makes us flee.  
  
The battlements were swarming with activity and by rights, I should've been down in the armory assisting, but the feeling of confinement grew stronger still and so I persisted in my search. Down a stairway and through a door and I suddenly found myself in a small and somewhat neglected courtyard. It looked as if it had once been attended then forgotten and left to seed. But to me, it was rival to the gardens of Imladris.  
  
I stared into the dimming sky, hoping to watch as the stars made their shining appearance only to be greeted with clouds of a coming storm. The wind was cool and the smell of lightening was on its back. Was it all worth it? Would we not all die in time anyway? I too would come to death, even with the distant blood of the Eldar in my veins.  
  
A low rumble was heard and my eyes closed as I discerned that it was thunder and not the footsteps of the approaching army. Rain started to fall gently and as I stood with my face to the sky, I let the water course over me and wash away the dirt and blood that life had sought fit to cover me with. The rain was warm, odd for this time of year but welcome none-the- less. I closed my eyes and just stood there, letting the storm claim my senses.  
  
Let this storm be a warning to the enemy that this is not a wise move; that we will not give up without a fight. Let this evil evaporate along with these drops when the sun once again kisses this earth. I stood there for what seemed like hours while I let this water cleanse my body and soothe my soul.  
  
This war would not go away, would not fade into the night. And I would not forsake the race of Men. With one last deep breath, I made my way back to the armory, now devoid of bodies and weaponry. I found my pack where I'd left it and changed into a dry shirt and began preparing myself. Dressed, I reached for my sword and found it handed to me by a familiar hand. I turned and he apologized. There was no need, I'd already forgiven him the moment I walked away. "There is nothing to forgive," I said and he knew I understood. Understood that he too had his own fears about what lay ahead, and that we would face it together, come what may. 


End file.
